


Patient 505 and the Bingus Prophet

by notalotgoingon



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Almost Crack Treated Way Too Seriously, Bingus controls all, Cult, M/M, Religion, Sykkuno is an unreliable narrator, Toast is a villain I’m sorry, Violence, praise bingus
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-21
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-13 00:01:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28894083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notalotgoingon/pseuds/notalotgoingon
Summary: Sykkuno is distraught. Somehow, he has woken up alone and freezing in a cell with only a famous, deep-voiced, faceless Bingus prophet to guide him back to the holy path. He is condemned as a war criminal and fights the accusation, but eventually, he finds out who he should really be fighting.
Relationships: Corpse Husband/Sykkuno (Video Blogging RPF), Sykkuno/Jeremy Wang implied
Comments: 15
Kudos: 35





	1. Do Not Forget About Bingus

**Author's Note:**

> First, some triggers that might come up: bombs, death, kidnapping, cults, derealization, mention of meals but not explicit food description, and I think that’s it. If I miss anything, please tell me because I don’t want to hurt anyone. And a disclaimer for writing about internet personas/real people.
> 
> Dedicated to Syphus, the Bingus messiah, Mady, for being really lovely and encouraging, and all the amazing Bingus followers on the Discord that I could go on about forever but won’t. Thank you all.
> 
> I’ve been working on this for two months now, but I had to get the whole story finished before I could bring myself to upload a chapter. Maybe the Bingus novelty has worn off, but anyway, I really hope you all enjoy this.

It’s cold. That’s the first thing Sykkuno realizes when he wakes up. It’s different and odd, and something must be wrong because it’s never cold unless something is broken. In this world, everything runs on a schedule. The air is seventy degrees Fahrenheit at all times. But Sykkuno feels more like sixty so he knows something is off.

Next, he notices his feet are numb, completely and totally numb. It feels almost as though they have been separated from his body. So he begins to panic because nothing is going according to schedule. 

He’s also not in his pod. The walls are a stark contrast from the blinding white of his regular habitat. There is also a lack of alarm to awake him, but that’s normal for the most part because he stages his own little rebellion each morning by waking himself up at 6:00 instead of 7:00. His eyes go wide. Perhaps somebody found out about his early morning stretches and talking to himself and, yeah, that’s it: somebody reported him to the lieutenants. Oh, what horrors would be forced upon him now? He can’t walk or move, really. He’s helpless to their torture. 

He remembers stories of mutilated civilians returning to their quadrants, some without legs or arms, others returned with cut up stomachs or gaping mouths caught in a permanent scream due to their lips having been sawed off. He wants to cry or scream, but that would only incite more anger and the charges against him would grow larger until he would be crushed mercilessly under their weight. The rules are simple; the schedule is laid out. He had broken rank, so he would have to pay the price.

He manages to roll steadily towards the door, legs flailing and shoulders propelling him forward like ancient rower’s paddles. It takes ten minutes to reach his destination, and he almost tastes freedom on his chapped pink lips. It is stripped away from him quickly, though, as the door will not move.

Golden lights taunt him from the underside of the unmoving, impenetrable, impregnable wall. It is a mountain that no man could ever hope to move. Sykkuno lays on his back, face up, and hopes. He calms himself by reciting facts from school. He does not calm down because then, he realizes he’s missing school and the daily lesson, and he is straying from the carefully laid out schedule once again. A sigh of pain and disappointment leaves his sagging body. How will he ever get out of this predicament? Furthermore, if he does manage an escape or is released from captivity, will he still be the same person?

A slot reveals itself, and he feels nearly unconscious as some sort of gas seeps from the opening. He’s nauseous too. He clutches his head and cries. He doesn’t scream, though. No singing, no music, no screaming. Those are only a few of the rules, but he understands them. Well, maybe Sykkuno doesn’t understand them, but he knows most people do. He recites them a lot. It started as a childhood task, every morning before lessons, children must face their screens and recite the pledges, followed by a rule. Then, he began repeating them to himself during mealtimes and recreation, everywhere so that he would never get in trouble. Maybe he should’ve tried more, he thinks, almost succumbing to the fuzziness of empty silence and dark lights, then he wouldn’t be in this situation.

He wakes up in a place that still doesn’t feel like anything he’s used to, so there goes his theory that it’s all a weird, made-up daydream. The walls are still dark, the lights just as dim. The door is open, however, and he feels fearless, feels like running outside and never looking back. A woman walks in. She’s thin and pretty with white teeth, and she reminds him of his teacher. The main difference is this person is real, not a hologram or a projection or just a face on a screen. Sykkuno’s head feels too heavy to complain as she lifts his wrist and presses a metal circle tightly against it.

“My name is Rae,” her lips are painted. Sykkuno remembers once meeting a woman with red painted lips. She was a member of the highest legion, a group likened to royalty. The legion made rules and selected people to carry them out. He faintly recalls learning the color of lips is an identifier in some quadrants. Red meaning of the highest importance, requiring a bow or at the very least, a lowered head to show inferiority. Pink means second most important. People with black lips are middle of the pack, incredibly dangerous, just below lieutenants and military officials but still very much above the general public. They mostly consist of trained assassins who carry out the legion’s will. Pink lips are the lowest. The color belongs to medical workers or infantry soldiers, among other positions that aren’t quite as sought after. The woman’s lips are black, and Sykkuno wonders how dangerous she is.

She raises an eyebrow, removing the disc from his now throbbing wrist, “You seem like you’ve been through quite a shock, patient 505.”

“I-I have?”

“Yes, you must have amnesia,” she quickly diagnoses him while still running his vitals, “but, don’t worry, I’m sure it’ll be fine. You look like a good kid anyway.”

She performs a few more tasks on his body that he doesn’t really understand but allows because Rae is clearly a medical professional. He steadies his breathing for a while, but the feeling of suffocation returns as quickly as it left. He’s scared; Rae can tell.

“Here,” she hands him a pink and blue pill with a small flask of water.

“What is it?”

She may be a doctor, but he knows better than to be forced into ingesting some chemically enhanced medication into his system.

“It’ll help slow your heart rate. Do you have anxiety?”

“N-no,” he doesn’t really know. He’s seen plenty of doctors before, but even if they diagnosed him, he doesn’t remember anything.

“Well, take it anyway.” She straightens her white coat. “Cheer up, Sykkuno. Just a few more, you can do it. Praise Bingus.”

She’s almost like a mirage when she leaves, bubbly and cheerful one second, focused on her work and enigmatic the next. It almost feels like he never even met her. Like she doesn’t even exist.

The medicine works like a charm. He is calm and safe, far from the torrential downpour of nerves he was feeling earlier. However, he is alone on the gurney, and he’s at a loss for what to do. He begins to wander out the door, though he doesn’t exactly know where he’s going, and truly, he doesn’t even feel his feet carry him away from the room.

In the hallway, he finds a statue of Bingus, the supreme leader, and luckily, he remembers to kneel in the glorious shadow of the superior being. There are monuments all over the world, celebrating the heroism of Bingus. Students like Sykkuno learn everyday about his righteous battles against the throes of dictatorship and wrongdoers that sought to disobey the rules that had been created for the good of all people. Hypocrites and heathens they were. They are, he corrects himself because some people still refuse to accept the gracious lord for who he is.

“Praise Bingus,” he murmurs, stroking the shiny, smooth plaque with his palm. It is a welcome feeling, the cool metal, and he feels calmer now, better. Bingus is beautiful. Everything will be fine; he just needs to let the deity guide him.

He knows Bingus will help him. Everyone could be saved by him, for he is life and happiness and above all, order. He is the lawful hand that moves them all on the chessboard of daily life. He guides them, and he strengthens them with his wonderful teaching methods. He would never let something bad happen to a loyal follower due to a simple miscommunication. Bingus is law and order; he is fair. Sykkuno trusts the process. He trusts that more than he trusts himself, like it’s really a competition, though. It’s definitely not.

He ponders his situation in the glow of his leader. Would Rae have helped him if he were to be sentenced to death? Well, perhaps, he thinks, his tormentors intend to stretch the torture into a few weeks, healing his wounds only to destroy him again. But why do they wish to hurt him? What did he do?

His usual ritual of tossing catnip stems on the altar is interrupted by a mysterious cough. Sykkuno tenses up and dreads looking around, fears the thought of one or more of his captors appearing behind him.

“Sykkuno.”

“You know my name?” He asks the low rumbling voice that spells doom with every syllable.

“Of course, patient 505.”

“Why am I here?” He braves turning around, still on his knees and feeling very vulnerable. “And who are you?”

Now that he has a warm, friendly face to associate with the voice, he’s not as scared. Or at least, he wouldn’t be as scared if the voice had a warm, friendly face. Instead, he widens his eyes to see the infamous skeleton-bunny combination mask of death and gore, and the medication is definitely wearing off now. Bingus’s right hand man stands in front of him. Chains decorate his statuesque neck. Is it even possible for a neck to be statuesque? Doesn’t matter, it just is. He wonders how many chains there are. Once, as a teen, his friend insisted the man had one for every body that stained blood on his knife, the one that people claim has massacred whole cities and dug into many world leaders’ sternums without a second thought. All in the name of Bingus. The thought briefly flickers in his mind that that cannot be true because they look to be only a few years apart, and this man could not have possibly done all that at the age of say fourteen. But maybe a godlike being such as hin could accomplish those kind of miracles. Sykkuno is glad to already be kneeling because if he was standing up, he might have forgotten to properly show respect.

“My name is Corpse.”

It is a suitable name, he notes.

“And why you are here,” he continues, “well, that’s simple. You disobeyed the sacred laws. You dishonored Bingus.”

The accusation is damning. Death is in his future, like there is a future for him past maybe a few hours or days, depending on how merciful he decides to be. He’ll be thrown off a skyscraper or worse, dangled by his fingers, made to suffer to offer penance for his hideous crimes.

Sykkuno is startled and nervous and tortured by realization that Corpse is not a friend, not even a foe, really, because how can he hate someone like him? He is the perfect model of a civilian. Everything he does is with Bingus at the forefront of his mind. Sykkuno and others wish they could be like him. He knows the stories of how he fought by Bingus’s side in the war effort against Arstotzka. It’s a brilliant tale. He flew the plane that decapitated the opposing general. Oh, how Sykkuno once wished he could meet the brave war hero, but now that he has, he understands the saying, “Never meet your idols.”  
*****  
“The first lesson is manifestation,” Corpse reveals in the way a teacher might, but Sykkuno is confused because of the lack of holographic diagrams or even tablets for note taking. He refrains from asking questions, though.

“In order to achieve things, you must believe they will come true. You must believe in Bingus. Bingus can do anything and everything, but you need to ask for his help first.

“Always remember that Bingus is our one true savior. All thoughts of praising other false gods are to be abandoned in favor of our omniscient lord. He will bring joy to us all, rescue all of us from the deceitful lies some scoundrels preach. The same scoundrels put those dark seeds into your head regarding disbelief in our savior. They grew, and now you are here. I can help you, Bingus can help you,” he finishes.

“Any questions?” He searches around the room, but Sykkuno is very much sure that he is the lone inhabitant of the classroom.

“No, sir.”

“Good. Do not question Bingus’s teachings. Write this down,” he implores, throwing down a stylus and a tablet, “and listen carefully. Bingus’s rules are simple as outlined in the sacred texts of ancient times. You will need to learn all of them. Do not forget Bingus. This rule is very imperative to living a healthy, honorable, saved life. If you cast out the lord, he may never return, and you, too, shall be cast out by the ones who have given you life. Next, do not ignore Bingus. If the almighty savior requests an audience with you, you let him take what he wishes. If he desires your skills, finds you necessary to his goals and perhaps a piece in his great plan, you let him. Furthermore, do not outlive Bingus.”

He does not offer an explanation for the final commandment, but one is not necessary, for Sykkuno learned every rule in his previous life, the one before the institution. He has unraveled plain white scrolls to grace them with the might of Bingus’s holy aura. He has scrawled the all-powerful words in the archaic writing style of his ancestors. There is no reason for this class, no reason at all. He knows about Bingus, so there should not be a remedial tutorial in praising him. But once again, he understands why he is being subjected to the humiliation of being treated like a student and if Bingus has declared him a war criminal or an enemy of the nation, he must be; no questions asked.

Hours pass while he endlessly documents the holy scripture of wise Bingus. The artificial lighting feels so foreign as his brown eyes search for entertainment in the bleak atmosphere surrounding him. He prays to Bingus for understanding and forgiveness, both things he knows the generous lord has given in the past. He has bequeathed amnesty to war criminals like Sykkuno, bestowed wonderful acts of kindness on common people. Bingus is benevolent. He gives charity to the weakest and softly guides stray followers back to the right path.

The glow from the lights begins to make him feel lightheaded. Somehow, his fingers find a capsule of pills just like the ones Rae had given him that morning. Or at least, he’s pretty sure it was morning. Actually, he’s not entirely certain of the time. His heartbeat slows when he swallows down the medication, and he returns to his work. Shortly after, he collapses in Corpse’s arms just as the class is about to conclude, and Sykkuno knows he must have done something wrong, dishonored Bingus, taken poor notes, because when he wakes up, in the same cell as before, he is cold and hungry and alone and lost.  
*****  
Corpse seems to like him. At the beginning of the week, they had been instructor and student, but gradually, he begins to take interest in the other man. While clearly stronger and more influential in society due to his much higher position, Corpse is not completely different. He is strange, that’s true, but he’s kind and sweet. He rubs Sykkuno’s back when he gets frustrated after failing to recite Bingus’s texts perfectly. He is lovely and perfect, and he really seems to care about Sykkuno’s spiritual development. Sometimes, they have meals together and discuss the news regarding Bingus or how best to please the almighty lord, and life is good. Life goes on. Sykkuno can almost forget he is in a mental hospital 

Everything feels fine with no cause for concern, so he lets himself fall into the gentle rhythm of waking up- still cold and sad and alone as always- taking his medication every once in a while, attending his classes, wandering the halls, eating whenever he wants, and retiring to bed, although sometimes he has no recollection of falling asleep in the first place. Sykkuno feels better than he ever has. Before, well, he can’t even remember his life before the institution. He loves it here, so much he may never want to leave. He has Corpse, Rae, and Bingus, what more could he ever need?  
*****  
Sykkuno lets himself drift off for a while in between lesson time and dinner. His eyelids open, thrusting him into the too bright world without proper preparation, and he curls into himself. Against his best wishes, he stands up. And immediately regrets it. Doubling over with acute stomach pains, he understands what is happening and forces a smile on his anguished face.

“Corpse! Corpse!” He calls through the narrow hallway.

“Sykkuno?” The man almost blushes at the use of his given name, but he has news to report, and as such, cannot stray from his task.

“I need you to tell me about Bingus.”

“What?”

His face drops into a mixture of disappointment that his instructor doesn’t understand and embarrassment for behaving so wildly for nothing, “I-I, uh, I’m having stomach pains. Like you said would happen unless I learned more about Bingus. Ri-right?”

“I,” Corpse nods, eyebrows threading together, “did, yes. Come with me. Let’s take a walk?” He prompts with a gesture implying they should head toward the greenhouse.

They amble along to the atrium that houses many beautiful flowers and bonsai trees. While many buildings tend to sag in the light, the greenhouse stands perfectly upright whenever guests venture inside. 

“What would you like me to teach you?”

“I’m not sure. But look! My hands are sweating. You told me this would happen, and now it is! Oh, will Bingus be happy I have not entirely cast him out in my wickedness?”

“Yes, very pleased, I’m sure,” Corpse allows, taking Sykkuno’s elbow in his hand as they gaze at the way the sunlight dances on orchid leaves.

Sykkuno leans into Corpse’s grasp, so excited with his discovery. He knows what this must mean: he is finally on the path of true ascension. Bingus cares for him and knows he has not deserted him or strayed from his teachings. He is really happy, and he could get drunk on the feeling of weightlessness as they glide across the marble floors together.  
*****  
When he heads to Rae’s office for his daily checkup, Corpse is already there. Sykkuno isn’t sure about the divine consequences of eavesdropping, but it isn’t his fault they’re so loud.

“Corpse, I know what’s going on,” Rae’s voice is audible despite the thick door separating her from Sykkuno. He wants to leave, but he can’t. And he doesn’t really want to leave because he looks forward to his check-ups: they’re his only way to track time as it passes. Sometimes, he feels like the whole world is passing him by, turning round and round like a carousel that he can’t touch. The medicine and the check-ups slow everything down, makes it so he can process his surroundings, take everything in and lull himself into a safe mindset where he is taken care of and happy finally.

Corpse’s words are a little quieter, “You don’t know.”

“I do! And you can’t have it both ways.”

“...can...try it.”

“Not even you could be that stupid to think this would work.”

“You doubt me.”

“Obviously.”

“Why?”

“Because I know better. Okay? This isn’t good, if it continues-“

“I intend...to.”

“But it’s wrong.”

“I can do this.”

“No, I won’t allow it,” her tone turns heated, far from the sisterly tactic she had favored previously.

“I’ll show you, everyone will know,” his voice and footsteps become louder, so Sykkuno ducks behind a nearby corner, prepared to make it seem like he was there the whole time, waiting for Rae.

“Hey, Kuno,” the nickname falls from his lips like honey before the boy can reach his ideal hiding spot.

“Oh-oh, hey.”

“You’re waiting for Rae?”

“Yeah, medical stuff. You, uh, going somewhere?”

Corpse takes a look back where Rae is standing, hands on her hips, an eyebrow cocked, and turns around to respond, “Not really. Business awaits.”

He calls after him, “Praise Bingus,” but does not receive the traditional reply. Shaking it off, he doesn’t let the interaction bother him.

“Hey, Sykkuno,” she smiles, brushing his hair out of his eyes warmly; they’ve come a long way since curt nods and “Patient 505.”

“Hi, Rae,” he holds out his arm for vital checks and wonders if he should broach the subject of the man who just left her office. Luckily, she starts talking for him.

“I don’t know what spell you’ve put on Corpse, but he’s crazy for you. I mean, like, yeah I ship it, but keep it in your pants, you know.” Her joking tone turns somber, “So all I’m saying is watch out for him. He doesn’t get attached easily, I don’t know why, must come with the job. This is probably really big for him, so please don’t break his heart.”

I couldn’t break it if I tried, Sykkuno wants to claim, doubting at first that the representative even had a cardiovascular life-essential organ.


	2. Do Not Question Bingus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rather long chapter here. We’ll finally understand exactly what or who Bingus is, or in a way, we still won’t fully understand. Corpse and Sykkuno’s relationship develops as we are introduced to two new characters that don’t exactly love the idea of Sykkuno.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Same disclaimer for everything I write. Also remember that I don’t have a beta or anything, so all mistakes (and I’m sure there will be some) are mine. Feel free to correct me or ask questions in a constructive form please.

Turns out, the man does have a heart, and it is, in fact, quite fragile, contrary to popular belief. Therefore, Sykkuno is definitely capable of fracturing it.

“What do you know?” He had screamed, voice higher than usual, “You’re not even a true follower! You don’t know shit about me, okay? So don’t run around like you do! Pretending that I am more to you than your instructor! There is a line, Patient, and you are crossing it.”

Sykkuno tenses up, never having heard Corpse yell before. All he did was ask a question about if his work was coming along nicely. He thought he might like it if he showed interest in his career. Then, maybe he had said something that triggered him somehow. Now, he’s yelling, and Sykkuno can’t leave for some reason.

“I don’t care! I don’t care! Why are you doing this?” He cries, smashing the vase he had been painting to hold offerings of catnip in.

“You don’t know anything.” He repeats through clenched teeth, “Absolutely nothing. I am a prophet, you are a student. I am here to mentor you, nothing else.”

Sykkuno breaks, matching Corpse’s volume to express his true thoughts, or at least, they were true in the moment, but he’ll regret them later, “Then why do you hold me? W-why do you kiss my forehead and tell me things will get better? Giving me false hope and lies, that’s all you ever do!”

He prays next to Bingus that afternoon. Bingus does not force worship, of course, he declares that the privilege of freedom should be a right. Sykkuno cries and mourns and repents. Who is he to love when he is impure and broken? Who is he to toss out affection so carelessly, to crush others with his longing, when he is so fractured and wrong? He is wrong. His life should be spent praying and worshiping, not hoping for stolen touches and warm, loving stares. He cries.  
*****  
On his way back to his cell, he drowns his sorrows in memories, listlessly staring at places in the wall that Corpse had touched or corners he had brushed by. He weeps in the afterglow of solemn heartbreak and regrets. He regrets everything.

A door opens on his way by, unprovoked. A thought occurs that it is Bingus’s way of reaching out to him, imploring Sykkuno to follow fate’s wish and walk through the door. There are many forbidden sins, including but not limited to: gambling, lying, and senseless killing- meaning without consulting Bingus first. However, the most unforgivable deed one can commit is to renounce Bingus, to turn one’s back on the omnipotent savior, ruler of worlds and conqueror of all lands. Sykkuno understands that if there is the merest possibility of Bingus’s interference in the act, he must indulge his wishes. It is what Corpse wants, so Sykkuno is not only obligated for religious reasons and a duty to his nation, but to appease the object of his affections, even if said lovely man does not know.

Upon the moment his first toe touches the steady stone ground, Sykkuno freezes and not from the cold. The room is bare, save a carved statue of Bingus. It is clearly a sign from the great lord. He would smile, except he cannot. He drops to the ground, praying and praying hard. 

“Oh, great and noble Bingus, I beseech of you, take pity on my mortal soul! Can you not see I am suffering every day that I reside here? I am in agony. No blood of my own or anyone else’s has been spilt, nor have I committed any grievous errors that would point to my rejection of your holy teachings. You see, don’t you, that my mistakes are but a-a simple misunderstanding, and you, your wonderful lordship should know that I am not a wrong-doer or a nonbeliever. If anything, I believe in your word the most of anyone, well, almost anyone. But please, I implore you, I plead for mercy upon this day in your sanctum, will you not take pity on a lone refugee?

“I have come so far to learn how best to worship you properly, won’t you let me, won’t you guide me to ascension? I have been taken from my home, taught to walk along the brighter, stronger, clearer path. With your guidance, sir, I have learned many things, your teachings, everything. I can be a loyal follower, given the chance, I promise. You are generous and understanding, are you not? Will you not see my innocence in this matter? I have learned to be pure, to capture your image, to become the model supporter that the prophet has encouraged me to become. Ju-just give me a chance, that is all I ask of you. Let me walk free, and I swear I won’t let you down, my lord.”

As he finishes praying, he notices his tears have dried up. He stands shakily, breath rapidly depleting and being sucked back in by selfish lungs. He hopes it is enough, and on his way out, he spares one last glance inside. Bingus is nearly mesmerizing, almost shifting in and out of reality with a sparkle in his heavenly glow. He is life and death, holds it in his paws like a marble, tilting it to see the way human life can be played with like dice, probability increasing and decreasing with every roll. He is hope and prosperity, healing and suffering, pain and joy. Bingus is life in its simplest form. He is truly the savior. Corpse had told him before that Bingus is the only true religion, worth the sacrifice of mind, body, and soul, all in the name of the one true deity that holds the secrets of heaven and earth in his whiskers. Nothing can stop Bingus, nothing at all. Sykkuno loves Bingus, Sykkuno needs Bingus. He walks to his chambers with a glow in his eyes and a spring in his step. He has a purpose, a reason to remain in the institution. Bingus is all he has ever needed. Bingus will watch over him, he swears to himself, will make sure he is safe, healthy, happy, and cared for.

Sykkuno faints thirteen paces from his cell door.  
*****  
They let him watch television. It’s a luxury he wouldn’t expect to have in prison, but Corpse again reminds him he’s not in prison, more like a hospital, an institution built to help wayward souls like him. They are here to help him, fix him, and he just has to let them, let them guide him to Bingus again. He chews his fingernails and watches the news. Vivid colors merge together, nearly blinding him, and the volume of high-pitched voices is deafening. It has been quite a while since he’s watched television, he thinks.

“Today, a plan has been approved by Bingus himself that will save everyone from the dreaded foreign terror, likely Arstotzkan hackers,” recites a newscaster, reading off the bright teleprompter that he can see reflecting off her pupils.

“In other news,” the co-host interrupts, “Arstotzka has pushed back against regulations to their military. Will they begin a full-frontal attack? What can we expect in the coming future?”

“And later on, a Bingus prophet who many say has all the answers will be giving an exclusive interview. We could all use a spiritual pick me up today, am I right?”

He changes the channel, bored now. He wonders when Corpse will be back. Maybe he’ll comb through his hair again with his wonderful fingers.

A new person takes the place of the previous newscaster, “Breaking news: Bingus representative announces latest peace treaty with Arstotzka.”

“Rationing rules have been lifted, according to reports coming in live from-“

Sykkuno turns off the screen that spans the whole wall. He sighs, content to curl up with a fluffy pillow that, if he pretends hard enough, smells exactly like Corpse. It hurts to be left alone, tossed to the side like a broken electronic, but he understands: Corpse’s work is important. He has to be able to sacrifice some things. It’s all for the best. Bingus is the best, and Corpse works for Bingus.

He doesn’t know how he and Corpse became so close, but he’s fine with it. He supposes it must have happened after the incident that had occurred after their argument. The first word he spoke when he woke up was Corpse. Rae had been amazed as he recovered quickly, within a day, but she would not let him see Corpse. Sykkuno sighs, recalling the disagreement that had taken place just before his faint. They had been angry, but talking to Bingus made his worries melt away like cotton candy. Everything is fine as long as Bingus is in control.

Finally, Corpse returns, looking extremely happy to find Sykkuno. Then, his eyes travel upwards, noting the change in his loved one’s appearance. He is distraught, to say the least, but he gives little indication of his change in mood before he snaps.

“They cut your hair,” he grits out, clearly upset.

“Oh, uh,” Sykkuno interprets his anger as directed towards him, “I guess so.”

“Who? Who did this?”

“I-I don’t know their name. It must have happened while I was unconscious.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll find out.” He vows, making Sykkuno flinch, “They won’t be able to hold scissors when I’m done.”

“No, please don’t,” he protests.

Corpse simmers down with a heavy sigh, “I’m sorry. You're right, I’m overreacting obviously. You’re just so beautiful, and no matter what, you will always be in my eyes. Are you sure you’re okay with it?”

“Yes.”

“You’re certain? I can have this resolved in a moment.”

“It’s just hair. It grows back.”

“Okay. It’s just that, well, you’re so wonderful. And docile and sweet. I don’t want anything you don’t like. I-I happen to like you a lot,” it’s a solid step further in their relationship, Sykkuno thinks, a good journey away from love, but he’s not quite ready for that anyway. Knowing himself, he’d probably freeze up and stammer something about Corpse’s voice or eyes or polarizing personality that reminds him like a dull dagger, grotesque and off putting to so many but remarkable and interesting to him.

It occurs to him later that perhaps Corpse expected a response and that was why he stood there, arms squarely hanging at his sides with a blank look on his mostly covered face. The part that Sykkuno could see, his right, or left depending on orientation, eye was staring straight ahead, at the wall above his head. It occurs to him later that maybe he should’ve just said it back instead of whatever he did next. Which was actually nothing. He stood there and took the affectionate phrase because to be completely honest, Sykkuno doesn’t know how to reciprocate love.

Later, he’ll be reminded of how Corpse left, silently but with a short sigh and a lame, awkward gesture as if to say goodbye. He didn’t dignify the scenario with a fraction of regret, for really, why would he have to feel sorry? There’s this thing about him, Sykkuno knows, where when he leaves, all the noise and pleasure and oxygen is sucked out of the room. It’s almost due to his subconscious mind how when that happens, Sykkuno will occasionally gradually move towards wherever Corpse ran off to, just for a gasp of air, a hint of conversation stemming from boring topics of altars and meals. This time, it’s in the hopes of telling him he adores him, like he put the air in his lungs and the dopamine in his hypothalamus. But most times, he stays silent, keeps his thoughts to himself, because really, why would he know how to reciprocate affection or diagnose love when he has never been taught how to do either?  
*****  
The next morning is busy. Rae quickly inspects him, proclaims him perfectly healthy and sets him free. Well, he isn’t free, truly, but he’s content. He wanders through the halls until Corpse summons him for their lesson time.

“I want you to do something different today. A colleague of mine is coming to visit today. You’ll find her at the front desk. Show her the facility, talk it up. I trust you,” he says, noticing the anxious look on Sykkuno’s downcast face, “you won’t let me down.”

It’s a statement, not a request, and hardly an encouraging comment at that. Sykkuno doesn’t know what’s on the line, whether it be his life or future freedom, he is unsure of the repercussions if he does disappoint. He doesn’t want to find out what Corpse looks like really, really angry.

There is a woman in the waiting area, glaring daggers at the secretary who shuffles her feet nervously. She is clearly important, from the way her tilts and her foot taps a steady rhythm of “I’m bored, don’t waste my time,” with her black stilettos. Sykkuno knows this is the prophet, and he is very glad, he is not asking for repentance or forgiveness because he is nearly certain she would not give it.

“Praise Bingus,” he offers the traditional greeting, but it’s almost like he didn’t say anything at all.

The woman in pink with black lips grimaces, “So he sent you? Corpse, I mean, sent you?”

“I, uh, I suppose,” Sykkuno shifts from foot to foot, stares anywhere but at her cold gaze, “he instructed me to, ah, help you find the way around.”

“Right. You’re a patient then?”

She dominates the room, the very air around him. It is suffocating and makes him feel so small. No answer would suffice, he knows. How is he supposed to answer when she didn’t even phrase it like a question? It sounded more like a demand, a shout that deafened his being and forced his lips to shut, no sound would be emitted. She stares at him. Of course, she wants a response, so he brings his courage up.

“Yes.”

“Where does the tour start then?” He almost imagines a fraction of a smile graces her plump mouth for just a second.

She is blonde and attractive, though fairly older looking. Her face holds a youthfulness that has not been touched by modern cosmetic surgery like many others Sykkuno knows.

He wanders through the hallways, repeating everything Corpse told him. He does drift off in his mind to wonder why exactly he was chosen for this role. He’s only been in the compound of sorts for a week. How would he know every entryway and empty corridor? How does he know everything like it’s second nature to his weary brain?

It reminds him of being back at school. New students would come and go, and sometimes, he would be given the special task of directing them to their classrooms for morning lecture and throughout the day. He led them through the laboratory, the one that used to hold lots of paper and projectors but now had been much improved over the years with modern technology like state of the art tablets, touchscreen holograms, and all manner of new writing utensils that could draw pictures in the air. Although it was very nice, nobody was ever allowed to use it. Well, Sykkuno never got the opportunity to use it, but he supposes others did. He becomes very sad when pondering how he might never be able to go back.

He leads Brooke through the stark white passageways, only stumbling over his explanations of each sector a tad bit. He drops to his knees before every Bingus statue, showing off a little that he can praise the lord properly. She does not kneel; instead, she clasps her hands together and sighs. It is off putting, her cold demeanor and stiff posture.

“Would you like to, um, see Corpse now? This is the end of the tour.”

“Yes, I suppose it is,” Brooke takes a few notes on her tablet, glancing around, “but that won’t be necessary. He’ll find me.”

“Will that be all?”

She takes a last look at him, taking in his high cheekbones and shyness. She turns her back and doesn’t give a response. In her mind, she is not thinking of being cruel, rather the opposite. We all have our place in society, so it’s best he learns his, she shakes her head, melancholy for no reason, at least not one she’ll ever disclose to anyone.

Sykkuno’s eyes are red when he showers. He swears it’s from the conditioner in his eyes when he carelessly brushed the strands of hair from his forehead with a soapy hand. But it could also be from the twenty minutes he spent crying prior to his shower. Either way, his eyes are red and puffy afterwards, even once he’s dried off and put his pajamas on, plain blue pants and a white shirt.

His sleep is not restless at all, contrary to past experiences. In fact, when he wakes up, he hardly remembers falling asleep at all. He feels rejuvenated and content, rocking back and forth on his heels as he stretches in the morning.

Another change in his routine is Corpse seeking him out instead of the other way around.

“Brooke, there you are,” Corpse feigns a polite smile, but Sykkuno knows real from fake.

“Halsey, nice to see you too,” this time, his features break into a true grin, Sykkuno notes, “the trip wasn’t too rough?”

She has multicolored hair, almost holographic as it fades from pink to lavender then darkens to a bright auburn. He almost forgets to introduce himself, so enthralled by the technology. He’s only seen it on people of very high status, like prophets or representatives of Bingus.

He remembers his place as Corpse gestures to the two women, “Sykkuno.”

“Corpse found a pet in this patient,” Brooke murmurs, though loudly enough that he can hear her critique. It’s clearly intended to hurt his pride, but he knows that means well: overconfidence in oneself is an attribute Bingus frowns upon. She is only doing her job as a prophet to discourage him from building his own image up too much. She is correct in her teachings.

He places his head down, stares at Corpse’s left foot, as Halsey remarks, “I find I quite like him.” She directs her attention back to the masked man. “Where will we go?”

“Through this hallway and down that passage will suffice. Sykkuno,” he says, ducking down to conceal his hand in Sykkuno’s hair, “you can come if you choose. But I can’t promise you’ll enjoy it.”

Before he can ask what either option entails, Corpse has turned around and vanished, leaving little room for decision making. He steps closer to the entryway but stops himself. He won’t like it, Corpse told him, but his curious nature prompts him to move forward.

There’s a man. Or at least, there would be a man if he was even recognizable in his current state. His limbs are mutilated, bloody, beaten. His eyes are closed, but his eyelids open and shut softly like an door. He doesn’t scream, which is odd since Sykkuno knows he’d be shrieking for the knife to stop, stop cutting, stop scrawling more bloodstained inscriptions on his skin. He wonders if the three others feel as sick as he does. Brooke is smiling, and Corpse is wearing his mask. Halsey has her back turned, probably grabbing more tools from the box in the corner.

While the room is dimly lit, Sykkuno can still see the shiny edge of a blade as it cuts human life off.

“Are you okay?” Corpse asks him after when they’re in his cell alone. The girls left, but Sykkuno doesn’t remember it. Maybe he blacked out. “You did really well for your first time. I feel bad for letting you come with us this early in your training. Best to get it over with, though, I suppose. You stood there for a while, didn’t speak or anything, but you, uh, seem fine now, right?”

“Yeah. Did he deserve it?”

“Bingus does not punish without reason,” it’s clear that this is the only answer he’ll be getting. He runs the words over in his mind. Reason, what was the reason? Was justice even on the minds of the people who killed the man? Was it reasonable to take a life that was never theirs? It doesn’t matter now, he repeats to himself, nothing does. Nothing makes the memories go away. The screams like sirens, crying out for help. He received none. No pity, no mercy. Sykkuno imagines himself in that position. Would Corpse help him? Would Halsey or Brooke even bat an eyelash while he screeched and pleaded?

“I’m glad you’re helping me.”

“Me too,” Corpse says, a hint of remorse playing in his eyes, “I wish- never mind.”

“You can go if you want. I know you have business to see to,” Sykkuno offers, but a nagging voice asks who he thinks he is to allow his captor to do something when he can do whatever he wants. Sykkuno is the one locked up, anyway, with good reason, of course.

“No, you’re more important.”

“Tell me something,” he asks, well more demands, like a child wanting a bedtime story.

“Okay, anything you want.”

“Who is Brooke, and why doesn’t she seem to like you?”

“Brooke, she’s...ah, she’s, well, we have a history.” He notices Sykkuno’s distressed look and corrects himself, “It’s not a pleasant one, don’t worry. It’s a rivalry, of sorts. Back in the academy, she was a top student, genius, a shoe in for any top position in Bingus’s cabinet. Then, I came, and she liked me, trained me, I guess. But we had a falling out over, honestly, I don’t even remember. She’s never forgiven me for what happened, always been cold, aloof, especially when I took the job she wanted.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, there’s no love lost, I’d say.

“I just wish she had a little more respect for you. She doesn’t understand how valuable you are. How necessary it is to stabilize your growth. She can’t just come in here and disrupt your learning like she does.”

He sounds angry, but Sykkuno cuddles into his side, and he deflates. The man strokes his hair and silently wishes him goodnight. He wants to wake up like this, together, in each other’s arms, but he can’t afford that luxury. Corpse can only hope and pretend. He wishes things could be different. When Sykkuno is healed, maybe they can be together, but until then, he will dream about holding him and appreciating him like he wants to without his colleagues breathing down his neck like he’s committed a serious offense just by loving someone. He leaves after Sykkuno drifts off.

“Hello?” He answers a call on his communicator in the hallway, “No, everything is fine...Yes, just like I told you last time...It’s too early. We should give it a few more days...No, I say we give him more time, and my word is final...I don’t care that much, I just...That’s fine, tomorrow?...Of course, goodbye.”

Sykkuno wakes up alone, but he’s used to an empty room being the first thing to greet his tired mind. Everything is calm, and he is very much at peace.

“Corpse, Corpse,” he nudges the sleeping man, a heap sprawled in his office chair, “wake up.”

“Sykkuno? What are you doing here?”

“Rae said I should come here after my inspection,” with Corpse awake now, he felt very nervous and out of place. 

“Yes, of course. I-I, uh, my superiors want me to tell you something.”

Sykkuno backs up half a step, “But you don’t have any supervisors?”

“Right, well, some people have told me to tell you something.”

“What is it?” Sykkuno perks up.

“You see, I’ve been hiding some things fr-from you.”

He doesn’t continue, staring down the floor like it killed his cat, so Sykkuno nods and says, “That’s fine. It was probably for my own good, right? You’d never lie to me about something big.”

“You don’t understand. This isn’t how I normally- I haven’t had someone like you come here before. You’re not- it’s complicated. I’ve been lying, and all along, it’s been so goddamn easy to lie to you. But now it’s getting hard and people are saying I need to speed this up, tell you what’s been going on.”

“What, but you’re like the pinnacle of truth. Bingus tells us we should always tell the truth.” His brows meet in a confused expression, “Which means this must be important. Did you, uh, inform Bingus? Did he approve? Because then it will be fine with me as long as it’s fine with him.”

“There is no Bingus!” He shrieks, higher pitched than normal. “Who are we? What are we? Nothing, nothing without Bingus. You’re nothing. I’m nothing. W-we don’t even have a place in this world without Bingus! Who are we to exist, to take up space in his perfect plan for humanity? We disgrace him with our very existence.

“There. I’ve convinced you, haven’t I?” The wild look in his eyes dies down, but Sykkuno is shocked and stepping backward rapidly, “That’s been the goal since I assumed this position, infiltrate, convince people just like you that I am loyal. But the truth is, Bingus is an idea, a creation, a representation of the human condition. The greatest fatal flaw in humanity is that we are sheep.” He speaks like he’s given the same rhetoric many times over. He makes it clear through his unsettling monotonous rasp that Sykkuno is not special just because he is learning this information, nor will he humor him by pretending he is. “Bingus is-is a creation meant to tempt us, control our very being. He does not exist like you think he does. If anything, he exists in the same way dreams do. When perpetuated through teachings and made-up stories, detailing his unbeaten, undeniable supremacy, it is easy to believe he lords over us. But really, he’s nothing but a figurehead for society to worship and take solace in because truly, we all want nothing more than to have our problems solved without effort on our own part. Bingus is that for people, but it is a false narrative that my colleagues have been pushing for, I don’t even know, decades? At least seventy years, I’d say.

He laughs, heartily chuckles, at the mystified way Sykkuno is staring. His plan was to reveal the secret when the time was right, but he got tired of waiting for the signal; he has to leave now, and he will bring Sykkuno with him. If that means exposing the pure, naive boy to the truth earlier than usual, so be it. It will be worth it when they can stand atop a ruined nation and cry with honor that it was them who brought it down, who burned their capital and laughed as they did, as the flames licked the altars that had spouted nothing but lies. They would be there in the end, holding hands and thanking the stars and fate, not Bingus or a false god, for their safety and prosperity. Corpse is at peace with himself for the first time in a long time.

Sykkuno is shocked. These are lies, blasphemy, hearsay! Nothing could be farther from the truth. From the mouth of Corpse, anything could sound sweet and truthful and wonderous, but this is despicable. Just two hours ago, they had inscribed Bingus’s sacred teachings on each other’s skin. How could Corpse turn on him like this? Turn on Bingus like this?

“You’ll let them win then,” he states calmly, coldly, rejecting both Corpse’s words and the tears that threaten to reveal themselves at any moment.

“Who?” Corpse scoffs, running a hand down his own arm, tattooed in bleeding black ink, like an addict searching for their fix. “The revolution that has convinced themselves capable of ending a society that has withstood time, greed, disloyalty, and lies and war? The revolution that is also merely an idea I sprouted in your head.”

“Yes, well...no. Not them exactly. And so? That’s not true! The news has been talking about the revolution for months, years! You didn’t just create that! More so, how can you say that about Bingus? You of all people should know, I mean,” Sykkuno grasps for pretend straws, at his wit’s end with no hope left in sight, “you’ve seen him. You’ve spoken the gospel texts with his graciousness! You’ve told me about the subtle change in which he heroically guides the entire universe and bends the self-righteous and rebellious to his will. I thought-I thought that meant something to you.”

His speech sees no effect on Corpse’s countenance. His eyebrows remain pressed together, angry or pensive or both, who is to know. Sykkuno ponders begging and pleading on his hands and knees for his lover to understand again. Perhaps his lapse in judgement can be solved. Perhaps he will not have to disclose this breach in the rules to the government. Brooke is right down the hall, he tells himself. So close and yet so far away, he cannot bear to look at Corpse, but he can’t bring himself to quite leave.

“Don’t make me report you.”

It’s an empty threat, both know that well enough, even without the slight tinge of defeat in Sykkuno’s tone, and Corpse wastes no time telling him that, “Don’t you get it? I’m the top of the food chain here. You can’t go higher than me. Who will you report me to? Brooke? She’s practically just as brainwashed as you, sure, but she knows who I am. She knows what happens if she crosses me, if anyone does. Including you. And I won’t hesitate to throw you out for treason.”

He makes it clear the conversation is over, and that he wants it to stay that way. However, Sykkuno tries out something new: disobeying his orders and wishes.

“So? I’ll go to Bingus himself,” he almost regrets speaking at all when Corpse heartily chuckles, making him feel smaller than a piece of sand on a beach, washed up and useless, one of millions without a real purpose. He thinks, who am I to oppose him? Who am I to talk back? Who am I to say anything when he is so clearly right?

“Go ahead,” he goads merrily, drunk off his own power and too lost in his pride to care about hurting anyone’s feelings, “there’s nothing he can do. I think you’re forgetting what I told you. Bingus. Doesn’t. Exist. And if you keep testing me, neither will you.”

It’s an empty threat, both know that well enough, but Sykkuno is too shocked and afraid to tell him that. He stands down like a scolded child. He does not argue anymore, tired and lifeless. So numb. Too numb to walk away, to speak out again, to even register the fact that the one whom he loves is ridiculing him, rejecting him. So cold and numb.

Corpse could just cry. His left hand taps against the top of his thigh; he’s lifeless and remorseful. He feels terrible for saying such awful things to the only one he has ever loved, but he understands that it was necessary. Break the colts, and then build them back up. But Sykkuno is not a metaphor, he is very real and very sad.

He sighs, “I don’t want to fight with you anymore. Let’s do something else.”

“Alright,” he’s overjoyed and suggests what he thinks will bring them closer together and also stop the ridiculous thoughts his partner has been passing off as gospel, “we could go spread the sacred, unrivaled word of Bingus?”

He is wrong. So incredibly wrong.

Corpse’s face breaks into a heartless sneer before he relaxes, contorting his body to take Sykkuno in his arms, “What have I done to you? Too much, I fear. Not enough to satisfy them, I presume.”

“To me? Nothing but show me the righteous, correct path that leads to true ascension. I understand now. You were trying to test me, yes, a test! And I passed, I know the almighty power of our lord and savior! Nothing can convince me otherwise. I understand the weight of my sins, I’ll confess to him right now if you wish. I’ll do anything if you so wish.”

“No, Sykkuno, you don’t understand anything.”

This patient will be the death of me, Corpse swears.

“I’ll go to see the great lord myself! He will help me! I-I’ll show you,” he is no longer trying to convince the taller man; if anything, he has lost faith in his own words. His proclamation had lost all venom or conviction halfway through. He can not go on. Corpse was his compass, his path that showed him right and wrong and which to choose. Now, he just feels hollow and abandoned and used in the open atrium.

“You’ll see,” he mutters afterward, hopeless and tired. His options have been narrowed down for him. He can not beg forgiveness anymore, so his only choice is to dig himself into a deeper pit of despair.

Corpse nearly guffaws, not cruelly, just because it’s hilarious watching the thin boy who lacks muscles or strength attempt to prove himself. His voice shakes, and Corpse bets if he so much as touched him, he’d shiver. He wants to test the theory but not now. Later, he promises. 

For now, he is at a crossroads. On one hand, he could take Sykkuno to his chambers and show him proof of Bingus’s falsehoods. However, he would rather have him find out the truth himself. I’ve done enough, he lays out the verdict, and it’s up to him now.

“Do it. See how it turns out.”

Sykkuno cannot open the heavy, unmoving door. Following the same path he had found long ago, he finds the door to the nave, of sorts, the innermost part of the cathedral that was built in the center of the institution. It holds Bingus, and he can talk to him as soon as he opens the door, except the door will not move. Deja vu strikes him. He sits and waits and pummels his fists against the hard metal, but it does give. He forces it to open by pure mental ability, and somehow, believing makes it so. It opens. He walks in, but the room is overwhelmingly empty and silent and overall, disappointing.

He is cold, and the walls are blank, gray, unfeeling. It is all the same, everything is the same, and nothing has ever changed.

“Do you understand now?” The words echo stiffly in his head, like wooden wind chimes hollowly clanging against his cerebellum.

Sykkuno wails like a newborn, lungs releasing so much pent-up frustration and agony. Is this ascension, he wonders, when the emotions fade, leaving a soft thudding heartbeat and a pinprick in his upper arm in their wake. He feels enlightened, feels cured

“Gotta send you away now, because you’re cured, fixed,” his voice doesn’t falter under the weight of the dilemma.

Sykkuno is stubborn, “No.”

Corpse insists. Sykkuno returns the request that really is more of a command by folding his arms and pouting. He wants to drown in the feeling of being near Corpse, so how can he do that if he gets sent back? It’s intoxicatingly beautiful, the sensation of giving himself over to another. He loves him. He loves him. So, so much.

“How long have I been here?” His voice drops, sure of himself for maybe the first time.

Corpse is always certain of everything; probability is not something he has to deal with. But now, he’s not sure of how to tell Sykkuno, the one who has always trusted him, that he’d been lying to him from the start. After revealing probably the biggest lie he’d perpetuated, a few little ones couldn’t hurt much worse.

“Around four months.”

He shudders, and it seems like he might cry, eyes glassy. He’s come so far from the life he used to know, learned so many new things under Corpse’s guidance. Four months? He figured two weeks at most.

“How?” He can do many things, but process the length of time he’d been held captive is not one of them. “I mean...how?”

“Your cell, erm, room. It’s designed to- how do I put this- knock you out every so often. And yo-you’ve never actually,” his eyes lock with the ceiling tiles, Sykkuno braces himself for the worst, “been out of it.”

When he trails off, it’s too much. Sykkuno pulls at his hair to avoid rushing the wall to his left. It’s a simulation, of course. A hologram, nothing but computer code meant to disguise the bareness of white surroundings and a bleak existence.

He understands now. Why everything had always seemed repetitive, why people appeared out of nowhere, from seemingly invisible hallways, why everyone seemed content to let him wander, knowing he would never escape, why he wakes up sometimes without memories or answers. And just like at his old learning institution, everything up to this point had been a test. Taking Brooke around had shown the prophet that he was docile, just like Corpse had said, unaware of his surroundings, complacent. He walked over to the nearest wall, and his hand passed right through. How have I never noticed this before, he pondered, so sick with confusion and terror. What else has been fake?

“D-did you…” he can’t say it, can’t express what he already knows, what has been made so painfully obvious by everything leading up to this conversation.

“No.” His voice is clear, strong, fervently denying the accusation, “Never. I would never kidnap you. It was a man I know only as Toast. Don’t worry, he probably won’t do it again. He found you enticing, so I told him no. We have a very complicated process for selecting new patients. He discusses his choices with me, I give him my picks. Then, we argue and debate our findings, which candidates can undergo the rigorous task.

“Eventually, he brought your file to me. I denied your capability to withstand the training. He wagered that I would be wrong and would see the error of my ways in prohibiting you from coming. I do see it now. You have surprised me in a way nobody ever has, and I respect that. Do you have any more questions?” He speaks like a trained scientist, and Sykkuno is used to the way his dialect or accent or whatever falls away to compact syllables into medical terminology or chemical composition or even religious testimonies, explaining complicated things so simply for him. It’s hard to imagine that this man has been lying to him. But it’s for a good reason, he nags at himself, he had good intentions.

Millions of answers to his final request leap to mind. That’s an exaggeration: it’s more like fifty, but some are repetitive, so maybe venture a guess at fifteen. He selects one like a pretty rock in a garden, silently and calmly picking it up in warm palms and assessing its worth.

“Why do you do this?”

Corpse seems to smile, finally relaxing, and it makes Sykkuno stand proudly that he caused the expression, “That’s simple. Basically, our current government is corrupt. They claim Bingus chose them as ‘representatives’ or ‘officials.’ That’s a lie. Like I’ve told you, Bingus i-is, well, you know, of course. He doesn’t exist. I don’t know how many times I’ll say that, but not everyone always believes it the first time. That’s why you’re special. You understand; we need more like you.”

Sykkuno’s expression soars then plummets. He did not understand the first time. They had to argue, and he only believed when he saw with his own eyes. It had to be explained to him like he was a small child without any knowledge of the world.

“Toast leads the revolution against the government and by extension, Bingus. My job is to, ah, convert subjects such as yourself into the opposite of what Bingus’s followers teach. And in order to achieve that, I must reprogram their brains. I am deeply sorry if I have harmed you through the journey. That has never been my intention, and I especially care about you,” sincerity dripped from his very being, so lost in the idea of having ever emotionally impacted Sykkuno negatively.

“Sit down.” He suggests, guiding him through a newly formed archway into a plain sitting room. There are two uncomfortable looking chairs across from each other that the two claim and a petite table that Corpse places his folded hands on. “Ask me anything you choose.”

“Are there, um, cameras here?” He hesitates to venture forward into unknown territory without fully understanding his surroundings.

“No, I told you.” He explains gently, a far more preferable tone, gentle and loving, than he had used previously. “This is a controlled environment, controlled by me. I can make this room into anything you like, no cameras or a green wall, whatever you want.”

“Okay then. How did you get this way? You’re no older than me, are you? Probably younger, right?”

“Twenty-two, and you?” He asks, though he knows everything about Sykkuno from his file including: age, height, blood type, favorite flavors.

“Twenty-five. You’re younger? But you’re in a high position.”

“Yes, many do perceive me as being older due to my status. Most in Bingus’s cabinet are on the younger side, and if they aren’t, they use surgery or lies to retain their youth. I graduated at fifteen, actually.

“Anyway, Bingus’s evil seeps into the whole nation, it’s my job to fix that. See, the revolution is going to fix things, I-I’ve seen it. They can take people like you and me, spread them out and start leading people to the-their side to stop Bingus. It will be better there, I promise. And we will escape together, we can stop this senseless evil together.”

His words have a tinge of anger to them as he talks about the seemingly omnipotent leader, now revealed as just an idea to keep the population controlled. Sykkuno listens, nods at the right intervals, but he is tired. His eyelids are heavy, and he wishes for an indication of the time, but all he knows is that it is late. Corpse keeps talking, but his hands on Sykkuno’s body make it very hard for the other boy to keep focused.

Somehow, Sykkuno ends up in a soft bed that is certainly not his dreary cell. He lays back on feather pillows that remind him of the clouds, so plush and fluffy. He sighs, letting himself relax into Corpse’s gentle strokes along his chest and side. For a moment, the peacefulness of the night entrants them. The two are just lovers, just normal individuals wrapped in each other, thrown together by needs and wants, need for comfort. The circumstances, whether fated to be or not, are hardly favorable to either, but their firm grasp on each other warms their bones. They do not need religion or fictitious deities, not here, not in the heat of each other’s bodies, staring blankly at their souls interwoven. They are emotionally naked to the other man’s gaze, yet neither cares.


	3. Do Not Ignore Bingus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where’s Sykkuno? Who took him? Is Corpse going to get him back? Does he even want to go back? Is there a Corpse to go back to? Is Toast really the bad guy? Am I running out of ways to write a summary? (Yeah, pretty much)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I told you this would be crazy, and this chapter might be the craziest. There’s the following things that could possibly be triggers, so heed my warnings!! TW: guns, knives, description of death, description of food, withholding food (not too graphic or bad but like two missed meals)
> 
> If I miss anything, let me know, because I really want everyone to be comfortable and safe when reading things I write. As always, just a disclaimer that I am writing about real people and fake situations. I know none of this could actually happen, and that you might think it’s crazy or weird to think it could. That’s fine, and you’re valid, but please don’t hate or harass me for enjoying writing. I’ve rambled enough. Thank you, and please enjoy.

“Where is Sykkuno? Where is patient 505?” He demands, forgetting his position, forgetting everything except Sykkuno.

The front desk worker gives him a distressed look, “I don’t understand. He was discharged just last night, and you personally requested it.”

“Who told you that? He doesn’t think I would do that, right? Did someone tell him? I’ll kill whoever did. No, this is bad news. Get me a phone, something, anything! I need to speak with him right now.”

He’s losing his mind as the employee’s face contorts into one of utter terror, “N-No, sir, I didn’t tell him anything. I just remember a woman came in and retrieved him from the cell. I-I can get your communication device.”

Corpse feels like killing somebody. No, he waves the thought off, he’s thinking bigger, much bigger: he wants to disassemble an entire nation of sheep, brick by brick, until he finds his love. Somehow, there’s a knife in his right hand and a communicator in his left. He does tricks, flipping the blade and rotating the hilt while his heart thuds rapidly in his heaving chest. The entire revolution has been alerted to the disappearance, and he almost regrets his decision to tell everyone because a full scale investigation will be carried out. Usually, one patient getting discharged would be a smaller disaster than a leaf on a freshly mowed lawn, but in this case, anything important to Corpse is of the utmost significance to the others. His hand stops moving; he knows he has to do something. He calls Toast directly, and while he doesn’t fully berate the older man, he comes close to punching a wall when he doesn’t get any information as to Sykkuno’s whereabouts. Instead, he gets something akin to a stern talking-to.

“This is for your own good,” is the only admission of guilt he receives. It’s not enough, of course; a silver throne and private island with a mansion fit for seven kings wouldn’t be enough to sate him with Sykkuno missing. Who does Toast think he is, telling him what he needs or wants? He wants Sykkuno more than he needs to be alive. Or maybe it’s the other way around and he needs Sykkuno in order to even want to be alive but he can’t decide right now.

Then, he slams his fist into his desk, “Godamnit, Toast, you know exactly what that kid means to me, and I want him back. Now. Or I swear on everything I hold dear, you won’t be able to speak when I’m done with you.”

The normally cheerful man grits out, “Don’t you dare threaten me. Remember your place in my regime.”

“You remember yours!” He spits back, “I have half a mind to send in troops to take you out. What kind of man are you?”

“A man who knows you’re too weak to try anything when I’ve got him in my facility. Right down the hall actually. In fact, I might even move him to my bedroom. For security reasons, obviously,” he takes both pleasure and pride- which to him, are much the same- in the way Corpse’s breathing hitches angrily at his words, “you know, I’ve even got state of the art cameras to alert me if someone steps even a toe out of line. I have an entire army of free-thinkers-“

“No, you have an army of pigs to do your bidding. That’s not free-thinking, hah, there’s hardly even any honor in that..”

“Then I suppose you’re one of those so-called pigs.”

“I don’t work for you. Never have, never will.”

Toast has played cards before, so he definitely understands a winning hand, and that’s exactly what he’s got right now. He has Sykkuno locked away, far from Corpse, and he has the big bad man himself practically begging on his knees for a chance to have him back. It’s almost comical how he’s been brought down by some weak civilian. Though he’s already winning, he decides to make a drastic wager on something he’s wanted for quite some time.

“You could have it all. Join me completely. You know those Bingus followers have nothing more to offer you. Sign yourself over, and you and Sykkuno can be together.”

Corpse is the last piece of the puzzle. The man is so good at his job- almost too good, really- that he could snap his fingers and the whole flock of sheep he guards would come running to Toast’s side without a second thought. He gets drunk on the idea of having the strong man at his mercy. Nobody dares to stand against him, except Corpse, and while he can ultimately respect his bravery, that must be squashed before it can spread. The irony of preaching free-thinking, escape from the control of Bingusism, yet also seeking to bend everyone to his will is completely lost on Toast.

“I’ve told you before: we are hardly partners, and I will never work for you. Never. Now, you have fifteen seconds to decide. You can hang up now, and I’ll be very, very upset and stop at nothing to get him back. Or you can give him up willingly. Either way, I’m getting Sykkuno back. And there’s nothing you can do about it. Got that?”

“Yes, unfortunately, I think our time is up.” The resistance leader murmurs in a know-it-all tone so familiar to Corpse. “Feel free to do your worst, but I will warn you that any wrong move, and the boy gets it.”

Do your worst, Corpse challenges internally. One minute with Sykkuno would charm the pants off anyone, but two, with two minutes, he could bring an entire nation to its knees. It’s all just a matter of time before his boy proves himself. A matter of days before they reunite, somewhere far away from brainwashed prophets and corrupted leaders, somewhere they can be together without secrets, lies, or hiding who they are and what they share.

The communicator beeps, signaling the call has ended, and Corpse wants to break it, throw it against the nearest wall, but it would just go through. So he tucks his head into memories of Sykkuno and hopes he knows how much he loves him since he never got to say it out loud. He never even said goodbye.

“I love you!” Sykkuno calls happily, running into Corpse’s arms as the bombs erupt behind him.

“I told you I’d save you,” he peppers his love’s face in chaste kisses, “and I promise I’ll never ever let them hurt you. Never again.”

He runs his fingers over the jagged scars on Sykkuno’s neck and arms, “They’ll never get to touch you.”

“Thank you for saving me. I don’t know how long I could’ve stayed in that prison before I went mad.”

“It’s nothing. I’m just glad you’re alright. We need to go. I have people waiting for us with a plane. When we get on, the doctor will inspect you, and we can finally get some alone time together.”

Sykkuno had never been on a plane before because of their cost and rarity. He cuddled into Corpse’s warm touch, so relived to be back with him instead of in his horrible, damp cell. 

A bomb goes off behind them, but he knows Corpse will protect him. With his life, it seems, as the blood pours from his head wound. Sykkuno wraps his shirt around the gash, but his tears mix with crimson runoff, making seeing things difficult. He blocks his arms around his head to protect the brain from the carnage around them.

“I’m going to die,” his lover gasps out.

“I know.”

They are both surprisingly calm, considering the circumstances they face. The air is suffocating, and the sky is red.

“Sykkuno.”

“I’m right here. Just breathe.”

“Sykkuno,” he whispers with his last breath.

It echoes back to him, clouds singing the last words of a fallen hero, a tribute to his brave sacrifice, and hearing his name on bloody lips makes everything hurt so much more, “Sykkuno, Sykkuno, Sykkuno.”

He wrestles with himself, shuts his eyes to keep out the agony of watching everything over and over again. He does not think the sound will follow him forever, but it does seem to be the case as those three syllables haunt him. The air smells like stardust, and he feels intoxicated by the silence and the solitude. 

Everything stops.

Brown eyes find light for the first time in days, it seems. He feels distinctly warm, probably because of the thick duvet covering him from the shoulders down. Someone has taken great care to make him comfortable. Perhaps they do not wish him harm, unlike in his nightmare.

Furthermore, his surroundings are very different from what he experienced in his dream or what his imagination has told him he could wake up to. He is not in a cell or in the middle of a battlefield, and it’s not damp, cold, searingly hot, or dusty. In fact, the climate is rather pleasant. There are no torture devices lining the walls. He frowns. Peculiar, he thinks. He tries to stand up and quickly realizes that even though his quarters are comfortable, he is undoubtedly still a prisoner, small chains around his ankles clanging together as he hops to the door. Struggle is futile. Escape is unlikely if not impossible.

He raps against the circular window, his only way of communicating with the outside world, “Let me out. I want out! Somebody come get me!”

“Toast,” an unknown voice states, “he’s up.”

There is no doubt Sykkuno is the “he” in question, and he takes solace in the information Corpse gave him. He knows Toast, leader of the revolution, the one who first found him. First, is content, excited, even, that he will finally meet the man, and then, he is angry, fury blinding him that he was taken from his home and dropped in the middle of a war zone, but a pawn in the game played by sick, twisted generals who moved him around as they pleased. He wants Corpse, badly enough to beg, but he holds off as an unfamiliar face fills his window.

“Ah, Sykkuno, I thought you would be a more submissive guest. Did the institution teach you nothing?” He can only assume this is Toast himself. He is barely impressed by his attire or countenance, but his voice is scary. Too monotone and cold to be truly horrifying but terrifying nonetheless. There’s even a hint of joy, a skip to his words that is so distinctly akin to childlike wonder. He seems to enjoy seeing Sykkuno in a cage. His demeanor is almost sociopathic, the way he switches between a stiff grimace to a way-too-happy smile and haunting laugh. He is taunting, practically boasting about his achievement of having entrapped the thin boy and having him at his mercy. But this man is arrogant, Sykkuno notes, and he is certain it will be Toast’s downfall.

He smells like lemon, citrus. This is an odd aroma because fruit, especially those with hefty price tags or overbearing ration laws concerning their sale, is rare. Sykkuno can count on one hand the amount of times he has received the luxury of consuming the sweet, brightly colored fruit, all of which have been given out as treats during meals at the institution. He smells like oranges but more bitter, a fragmented, distorted image of sweetness.

“Are you Toast?” He asks, gripping the bars of his prison and looking over the ledge. Sykkuno is hopeful but confused about his predicament. He holds back a grin too after noticing the man is on his tip-toes to see through the glass.

“Yes, you’ve heard of me?”

It’s not quite a question, the way he phrases it is more to the tune of a statement, a way of saying, “You should have heard of me, nearly everyone has.” While Sykkuno is still concerned, he understands how to play the game he is being subjected to, the role of a calm, oblivious, fearful in the face of power captive. He’s certainly had enough practice at it. He knows what to do, what Corpse would do, what the man wants him to do.

“Of course, you’re the fearless leader of the revolution. B-but what does someone as powerful as you wa-want with, uh, someone like me?” He hesitates, seeing a tinge of anger in the other man’s face. His stutter is intentional. If he wants to succeed at convincing his captor he is as docile and harmless as a rabbit, he must take on a different character entirely, one who stammers with fear.

“Yes, good. The reason you’re here is because, well, how do I put this? Your nation has fallen.”

“What? But that wasn’t...I thought your plan involved-I mean, and-and it wasn’t supposed to happen so soon, not-not,” Sykkuno’s calm facade is broken by one statement. He can’t say what he means: Corpse and I were supposed to run away first, together. You weren’t supposed to touch me ever. He was supposed to make sure of that.

“Corpse didn’t tell you?” Sykkuno bitterly chuckles inside, he didn’t tell me a lot of things. “Well, we decided to put things forward, initiate the plan earlier, for the best of everyone, I assure you. Including your instructor. But, as the nation falls, some sacrifices had to be made. He stayed behind as a, uh, precaution of sorts. Making sure nobody suspected anything.”

“No,” Sykkuno murmurs, “he would never leave me.”

“Well he did.”

“Not willingly. He would-wouldn’t do that.”

“I’m afraid he was, to put it lightly, out of control. Not thinking properly when he left the way he did.” Toast reports, picture of a grieving colleague having to deliver grim news, but inside, it is obvious he is self satisfied, “But I must admit, it did not shock us at all. He has been contemplating leaving you and his post at the institution for a long time. It was only a matter of when and how he chose to do so. I should hope you harbor no ill will towards him; I’m sure he was trying his best to spare your delicate feelings.”

“No.”

Toast ignores his negation, “What do you want for dinner?”

“He wouldn’t leave me for the whole world.”

“Did he ever express this to you directly?”

Sykkuno thinks of all the times he almost did. Almost is the key word, for really, he never confessed his true feelings, so Sykkuno doesn’t know quite whether or not they felt the same. Perhaps, he thinks darkly, the man had been lying the whole time, about everything. He had told untruths and convinced him Bingus was real then a hoax, and now he knows nothing at all, so confused by the line between real and fake. Perhaps nothing he said was ever really true. He had lied before to his face, boldly flashing his deceit for all to see, basically mocking him for trusting him. He lied to everyone, so why would Sykkuno be any different?

“I thought not,” his captor walks off, convinced of his supremacy and drunk off power. He has finally beat his only competitor to the throne, the only outlier that refused to accept him as leader, bested his longtime rival and has even taken a prize as a souvenir of his victory. He almost feels empty before realizing he has a nation to raid and an empire to build. It is lonely at the top.

He does not bring Sykkuno dinner and leaves the boy to wonder why and to remain in the dark about his predicament. The next morning, he brings a light broth. In the afternoon, a bowl of chicken and rice. He makes sure that his prisoner knows that he is in control; he is the sole protector, the nourishment that allows him to eat and drink and live. He is the only thing keeping the boy from keeling over. He makes sure it is drilled into Sykkuno’s head.

He breaks the news over a dinner of crackers paired with mixed fruit and vegetables a day later, “He’s dead.”

Sykkuno immediately stops chewing and swallows. He knows who Toast is referring to, the only person that does not require a name to bring an entire room to complete silence, the only one who hardly needs a face to bring a country behind him in resilient devotion.

“No.”

“It’s the truth.” Toast reveals, sounding so certain he almost sounds like a minister preaching his sermon, well-practiced and memorized such that no stutter or mispronunciation is evident. However, Sykkuno has been lied to once by a religious man; he will not make the same mistake again, “A bombing, or so I’ve heard. One of Bingus’s representatives found out about his double agent status. I believe her name was Brooke, yes, that’s right. Nice woman, I’ve heard, but I believe we’ve all underestimated her bloodthirsty nature. Shame.”

He makes it clear through his steely tone and harsh gaze that lacks empathy that it is truly no shame, no accident, no planned bombing by the other side.

“I don’t believe you.”

“Very well.”

Toast gets up to leave. He has taken to joining Sykkuno for his meals, convincing himself it is under the pretense of building trust to crush the boy later, but really, he just enjoys being close enough to watch his lips quiver with every sharp inhale and those doe eyes blink so prettily. The beautiful captive sneers, “You don’t have proof.”

“Ah, it can be very difficult and traumatic when someone you thought you cared about dies,” Toast has decided a different tactic is in order and now oozes fake sympathy. It’s awful, but somehow, Sykkuno wants to believe him. He wants to believe that he is loved by someone, more than just some sociopath’s plaything. He is so confused. Everything is crumbling, and he isn’t sure what’s real and what isn’t.

“I love him,” Sykkuno mumbles, but it sounds more defeated and self-loathing than it is meant to be a determined declaration of devotion.

Toast nods once, leaves, and does not return for a while. He doesn’t bring breakfast that next morning, though if he had, Sykkuno would surely have gouged his eyes out with his soup spoon.

He does visit after Sykkuno wakes up. He stands patiently while he crawls to his feet, moody and with dewy eyes from crying all night.

“What?” He says glumly.

“Come with me.”

“Unless you’re letting me go free, I’ll have to decline.”

“You don’t have a choice.” 

Somehow, Sykkuno wills himself to stand, and Toast enters, making sure to stay a suitable distance away because if he does lash out, he wants to be prepared and out of harm’s way. He leads him down the hallway, his shoulders hunched in clear admittance of defeat. They stop in a large room with no windows- something Sykkuno is becoming very familiar with- and a giant television taking up an entire wall.

“See,” he gestures to the big screen, “all the evidence is right here.”

The television is reporting on recent events, including the bombing said to have taken the life of famed Bingus representative, Corpse Husband. Sykkuno is meek, scared. He truly has no one left to protect him from the viciousness of the cruel world around him, the society that birthed him and watched him grow into who he has today. It is also the society that cast him out and feigned interest about what became of him under the careless watch of someone else. He has lost all respect for that place that he once called home. Corpse was his last source of happiness, and now, he has no home.

“That doesn’t even look like him,” he objects, seeing the bloodied face of a man supposed to be that of his lover flash across the screen. His nose is crooked, and his eyes are shut against the torrent of blood and the intrusion of cameras that won’t stop poking their lenses into his features, prodding and molding him into whatever their viewers wish to see.

“I assure you it is.” Toast waves off his comment blindly and prompts him further, “Did you ever see his face?”

“I-I can’t rem-remember, um, I think so. Maybe, I-I don’t know. Help,” Sykkuno’s selfish lungs suck in too much air in too little time. He can’t process what is going on. The walls are fuzzy. Sedated and calm, that is what he needs. Panicked, that is what he is and doesn’t want to be. Help is the only thing he is searching for in the lonely, empty space, but there is no one around to offer him condolences or assistance. His own memory is failing him.

“It’s okay,” Toast’s attempt at comfort will have to do for now, he supposes, wasting away in the fluorescent lighting, “I don’t expect you to know. He kept you blind to a lot of things, under anesthesia for the most part. It’s not your fault.”

“Turn it off! Turn it off!” He screeches, arms morphing into a rope that stretches and tugs on his collarbones and legs threatening to give out or run or do anything but stay. He cannot look at his lover’s bloodied remains any longer, or he will faint or cry out, the latter of which he has already done so much that Toast has clamped his hands over his ears to obstruct the noise from entering his head.

And all at once, his body stops. His inner voice explains things very slowly to him. Corpse never loved him. He was just a patient, nothing more. He doesn’t matter. Nobody cares about him, not even himself. He can’t bring himself to eat for a while, pushing food around and moping in a cell, sulking in the one corridor he is allowed in, under close watch, obviously. His consciousness lets the darkness seep into the corners of his vision. The last thing he sees is Toast’s sneer as he saunters through the narrow entryway.

He finds Brooke the next morning- or at least, he convinces himself that it is both morning and the next day because, really, he has no concept of time within his prison- outside his cell with an envelope in hand.

“I can’t explain everything right now, but you need to listen to me.”

Sykkuno is clouded with hatred, pure fury, determined to end his own suffering and get revenge for his fallen love, “You killed him! How-why would you do that? To me and him! I should never have trusted you, you witch!”

“Keep it down,” she hisses, petite hand slapping over his mouth as she drags him by the elbow to a dreary- everything in this place is dreary, though, so that’s not saying much- corner of the hallway, “you think Toast knows I’m here, talking to you? I’ll be dead in two seconds if anyone hears you. So shut up for both our sakes. Take this letter. Read it when you’re alone, which is hard in your case, so I’ve given you three minutes right now where no one will be watching, okay? Go.”

He runs the short distance back to his cell, only ten yards or so, but it feels like a marathon . The message Brooke had probably worked very hard to give to him weighs down his thoughts and his pocket. Finally, he cuts through the paper with his bitten down nails. He hasn’t touched smooth paper in a long time, since he was very young, but he does not dwell on that for long, can’t afford to. The red light of the camera is down for a little bit, signaling this is the time to read the letter, without the threat of someone watching.

Dear Sykkuno,   
Please be okay. It’s me, Corpse. I know Toast has you, and I sent Brooke to you with this letter to make sure you know I am looking for you every day. First, be positive she’s not dead. Toast probably found out she gave this to you, and it will be disastrous if he finds this, so burn it or eat it. Get rid of this note. Secondly, escape. No matter what, you need to get out. There’s no telling what he’ll do to you. Third, check yourself for trackers, and find me when you get out. Remember that I love you.

He eats that night finally, hope replenished in his struggling body. Corpse is alive. In addition to that, he hasn’t forgotten about Sykkuno. But he needs to escape, meet him halfway. He envisions life without overbearing rules or dictators, no revolution or laws governing their lives. They will be free. He has never known freedom and imagines it will be incredible, exhilaratingly intoxicating. Everything is beautiful. Everything is the best version of itself. He feels free and happy. His lungs take in oxygen at a steady, calm pace, and he has not felt this peaceful since the institution. His mind is not plagued with nervous thoughts. Everything is pure, wonderful, lovely.  
—————  
Toast found the letter. Everything is doomed. His plans may as well have been shoved down a giant hole. They will never come to fruition. He screams at himself, and the walls begin to close in. Everything feels wrong. The cold, unfeeling life he has led up to this point was not ideal, but he much prefers it to the mess of a future ahead of him. He doesn’t know how it happened, but the slip of paper he had been safeguarding in a tiny hole in the wall is gone. Toast knows. How could he have been so careless? Disaster. Catastrophe. An apocalyptic event is bearing its teeth at him. Sykkuno has never been so scared.

He wakes up in a tunnel, being raced down the passageway on a table or a mattress, maybe, with wheels. His head hurts; somebody explains that it will not hurt. Everything feels strange, and the same voice instructs him to stay still while they make it feel better. There is no better. Corpse is waiting for him. Blink. Blink. Laughter. Blink. Lose consciousness. Take a single last glance at the blank white walls and succumb to the beauty of nothingness. Let the void welcome a new inhabitant.

Whirring machinery wakes him up. The spinning blades of a helicopter, to be precise. Sykkuno wants to go back to his new neighbors in the land of eternal darkness where the bright lights can’t bring him more sorrow, but people are shaking him awake and throwing him out like old shredded cloth. He feels like he’s dying, air whipping across his smooth cheeks. He’s having trouble thinking.

Somehow, when the world comes into focus, he is on top of a tall building. The skyline greets him, promising a sure death if he falls, but a firm grasp brings him away from the ledge. Hopelessness consumes him. Oh well. Probably for the best anyway. He feels some sort of pull to the center of the rooftop. There’s Corpse, so he clings to him, face hidden in his broad chest and comfortable, warm overcoat.

“You’re here?” He marvels at the sight. In his absence, he had almost forgotten what touching another human feels like. 

Corpse’s chest rumbles, “I told you I’d find you.”

The cold barrel of an unused gun chews at the shell of his ear.

“Get out of here.”

Sykkuno shrinks further into the warmth of nothingness. He doesn’t need to think or make decisions. His path is clear, and all he has to do is keep walking. Corpse will take his hand and lead him to safety.

“Alright, you got your minute,” Toast says, “and now, the boy comes back with me.”

“No!” Sykkuno screams, propelling his arms into Corpse without mercy. “I won’t go back! I can’t. Please.”

“See? It’s obvious you terrify him.”

“Too bad. The truth is that he’s not your responsibility anymore. He’s coming with me.”

“Why would you do this, you sick bastard? You dangle him in front of my face just to yank him away?”

“Oh no, I’m not that cruel.” The gun cocks, and Sykkuno fights off a whimper. He’s never been shot, and he does not want to know what it feels like to have his flesh torn into and his insides part to allow a foreign bullet to trespass, “Or maybe I am. But it’s all up to you. I gave you a choice. You’re the one who has to tell him there was something you could’ve done to save his precious life,” he jostles his weapon around, testing out where he wants to aim. 

“Otherwise, I’ll shoot him now, and neither of us get what we want. Let’s see, hmm? Perhaps the back of the skull will do well, easy to cover when he’s in a coffin. I could blow his nose clean off, although it is rather pretty? Running out of time, Corpse. Pick a spot, or I will.”

“This is barbaric.”

“Why don’t we let him choose?” Toast offers like some sort of grand prize, “His life in exchange for your freedom or he goes free, and you serve me for, oh, your whole life. Sound good?”

Corpse looks down, notices the sadness and confusion in Sykkuno’s chocolate brown eyes, “No. It’s either he goes with me, and I blow your brains out if you try and stop us, or he goes with you on his own terms. I won’t have him forced into something he doesn’t want.”

“Sykkuno, I want you to choose with your heart. Me or him,” he challenges. Sykkuno could scoff. Choosing between psychopaths, one he loves and one who captured him for no good reason other than to torment the first psychopath? How did his life come to this?

It’s an easy decision, but with a gun pressed to his temple, he can’t exactly choose fairly.

“Take the goddamn weapon out of his head then,” Corpse sticks up for him, he always has. All Sykkuno has to do is run into his arms, and he will be saved. It’s a fairytale, and he just has to run.

“I want Corpse.”

His voice is shaky, fearful, but Toast mistakes it as being unsure of his response, “Are you certain? I can offer you so much. Just come back to the ship. We can go home.”

“You’re not his home,” Corpse sneers, “and he’s not going with you.”

“Ah, you really should learn to be quiet,” Toast chastises, pointing his gun at Corpse’s chest.

“You don’t scare me.”

“Oh? I should. I could blow a hole through your chest. Right now. Don’t think I won’t.”

Corpse takes a confident step forward, brushing Sykkuno out of the way, “Yeah? You won’t. Remember, I know you, I know what you’re capable of, who you are. You’d never do that. Don’t you see? I’ve got the upper hand here.”

Suddenly, the barrel of a gun is pressed once again to Sykkuno’s head, but this time, it is Corpse’s.

“H-how? Why?” He is more confused than ever. He should run, and his trusty fight or flight instinct kicks in to tell him to do just that.

“Um, um, get away from me, b-both of you,” he stammers.

Corpse has the audacity to wink at him before staring him down like a dart board, like the bullseye is painted right in his brown eyes. Toast, on the other hand, is flush with anger and glaring with fire in his very being just waiting to erupt in a flaming gust of hateful energy that will end in one or all of them dead.

“Toast, you underestimate me. Always have. But I will change that soon. I know exactly who you are. You’re a coward. You think you know everything, don’t you? Just waiting to spout out some orders or ridiculous claims that your way is so perfect. Well, guess what? It’s about time somebody calls you out on your bullshit lies. I guess it’s got to be me.

“I know exactly what you want right now.” He glances down to Sykkuno, the last bit of love in his gaze won’t just disappear as he stares him down. He isn’t sorry, can’t afford that weakness now, not when he’s got Toast right where he wants him, “And I won’t let you have him. So if you do choose to continue with this hilarious charade of pretending he loves you, keep going. It’ll end with a bullet in both your heads. His first, though, ‘cause I wanna see what you look like when he bleeds out, and you can’t stop him from dying. You’re a murderer and a sadistic liar, and one day, your empire will come crashing down around you. Everyone else has left you, and now, Sykkuno will too.

“He would never betray me. It would do you well to learn that now rather than later. Got that?”

“You wouldn’t dare. What happened to loving him? Too set on making me pay that you’re losing your humanity.”

“Hard to lose what you never had, and that makes two of us.”

Sykkuno speaks up softly, “Corpse, put the gun away please.”

“Aw, princess, just trying to teach him a lesson. It’ll be over soon,” you know I’d never hurt you, he finishes silently. He reassures himself that somehow it’s worth it. He’ll regret it later, but the wind is rushing around him, and he’s giddy off the feeling of finally bringing his enemy down because, really, Bingus was never his true opponent; it has always been Toast. The real enemy is the one in front of him, and the only way to take him down is also standing in front of him, shivering in the wind like a fragile tree limb.

“Please put the gun down,” he begs again. 

“Love, you know I like when you beg,” okay, so he’s showing off Sykkuno in front of Toast, but he actually does enjoy hearing him like this. He complies with the request, not having totally lost his morals, “so just this once, I’ll do it. And what do you say?”

“Thank you.”

“What was that?” He goads.

“Thank you, sir.”

Didn’t even have to practice that, he smirks at the jealous look Toast is exhibiting.

“Good, now Toast, have you made a decision?”

“On what? Letting you two leave? Never. Either Sykkuno comes with me, or you never leave, until they cart your body away.”

“Too bad,” Corpse raises his weapon again like holding a loaded gun to someone’s head means absolutely nothing. Sykkuno is afraid, visibly shaking, and not from the cold anymore.

With his free hand still tight around Sykkuno’s wrist, he places the smaller boy’s hand on the trigger.

“Do you want to do the honors?”

“No,” he asserts, trying to remove his finger that could potentially end a life.

“Can’t you see he doesn’t want to be around you?” Toast takes advantage of the moment, and Corpse has half a mind to commend him on it, before he splatters his brains on the concrete, of course. “He’s practically begging to get away! He’s shaking, he’s so afraid of you. Stop torturing him.”

“Me? I can’t even imagine what you did to him in that prison of yours.”

“Nothing worse than what you’ll do to him if I let you leave.”

“Fine, let him choose who he really wants to be with, and make it fair.”

Toast agrees, “Alright. No guns.”

Sykkuno takes a step forward at Corpse’s nudging.

“I-I want to go now.”

I’m sorry for making you choose, Corpse wants to shout, I’m sorry I’m so messed up. We both are, but I’m messed up for threatening you and putting you in the middle like this. I’m sorry, he thinks of saying, but he doesn’t. He stays silent because Toast looks smug, and he’s ready to wipe that grin off his stupid face.

“I th-think I, um, choose Co-Corpse, okay,” he declares, barely a whisper as the wind howls around him.

Toast makes his opinion abundantly clear, “No. You don’t know what you’re doing. He’s brainwashed you, clearly.”

“That’s rich,” Corpse scoffs, “you said this would be fair. You’re a fucking liar, and you know it.”

Sykkuno crumples to Corpse’s side like a used napkin. He feels damaged and hurt and scared, so scared.

“You can’t leave.”

“Oh we’ve already left,” he counters, turning on his heel but slowed a bit by Sykkuno’s weight on his leg.

Toast pulls his gun back out. Yet again, Sykkuno is put in the middle of a standoff between the two. Corpse sighs, mutters a quick, “thought you’d learned your lesson not to try me,” drops his gun, and pulls a knife out instead. His intended target doesn’t change, and Sykkuno isn’t surprised. He lets himself be tossed around like a rag doll, fading in and out of consciousness. Nothing feels real anymore. The air tastes like plastic, and even the blade on his throat makes him feel weightless and dreamy instead of petrified. Maybe it’s the anesthesia still wearing off, but he finds he could not care less whether he lives or dies at this point.

“Fine, let’s do this,” Corpse rolls his eyes, not that Sykkuno can see.

He feels things, though his sight is almost comparable to peering through broken spectacles, fractured and takes a second look to verify the sight in front of him is real and not a figment of his overactive imagination. He acutely notices Corpse’s left hand drifting lower, towards his right front pocket and then to the other one. His muscles tense up a bit, but Toast takes no notice, gaze locked on Corpse.

“Thought you of all people would know better than to bring a knife to a gunfight,” a weak joke and even if it was really funny, nobody is around to laugh. 

His bones hurt, if that’s even possible. He’s so tired, mind pleading for another dose of whatever medication or sedative they had been feeding him for so long. He aches longingly for the type of drowsy slumber that can only come from anesthesia.

A steady grasp on his hip bone sends waves of endorphins to his brain and luckily, also takes away the pain of the knife nicking his neck. A bit of blood dribbles down his throat like the slowest competitor in a rain-drop race. Toast fires, and it’s either a good thing Corpse has had practice dodging bullets or that he’s a bad shot because, somehow, they avoid the bloody aftermath of a bullethole. Sykkuno is dropped suddenly as Corpse shoots Toast’s dominant shoulder, effectively preventing him from taking another shot and causing him to grunt as he all but collapses and falls onto one knee.

“You done now?” He casually asks, not even out of breath. Sykkuno is almost impressed, would be, too, if he wasn’t so woozy. The lights are dim, and the sun is almost up. It’s peaceful, even with a heated conversation still going on near him. He dozes off organically for the first time, no syrupy sweet false reality to help him drift off, no chocolate milk dreams luring him deeper. He doesn’t even have to count back from ten like he faintly recalls Rae telling him as she waved a brightly colored needle around. You won’t remember anything in the morning, her voice whispers, lulling him into peacefulness.

He does not dream, and when he wakes up, he feels actually happy. Corpse is sipping from a coffee mug across the room from him. It’s domestic, and he feels content.

“Good morning,” he greets, more chipper than usual. Well, usually, he wakes him up with an alarm system or a nurse, so an actual greeting is wonderful in comparison.

“Where are we?”

“Not sure, want some pancakes?”

“Yes,” Sykkuno nods, accepting the warm plate of fluffy goodness. He could get used to this.

“Any questions? I know yesterday must have been very scary on your end, and trust me, it wasn’t much better on mine.”

He snorts into his breakfast, “You held a gun to my head.”

“Exactly, I didn’t feel good about it, and-“

“You held a gun to my head,” he repeats, eyes wide.

“Don’t worry, there was only one bullet,” he says, as if that’s supposed to console him.

“So? You put a knife to my throat.”

“I did. You liked it.”

Sykkuno pouts, upset and confused, unanswered questions plaguing his mind that was already consumed with dealing with the aftermath of his first kidnapping and then his second one. He did sort of like it, in a weird, I’m-about-to-die way, but he refuses to admit that now when the blood just stopped flowing from the cut on his neck.

“Besides, asshole wasn’t playing fair, I had to do something to stop him from running off with you. He could’ve done much worse than kill you, trust me,” Corpse shudders, memories resurfacing of disfigured dead bodies without faces and people littering the floor like garbage with tears still streaming from their eyes, horrors replaying in their minds.

“He does worse things than you can imagine on a typical Monday.

“I was just- I had to prove to him that I-I don’t need you- like, ugh… I just had to make him think that you aren’t as important to me as you are. Because you are important to me. I was just trying to save you. And I did, remember?”

“Fine then, what do you want me to say? Thank you, my savior, for rescuing me from the horrible bad guy?”

“I mean, I had other ideas in mind, too.”

“I hate you.”

“You don’t.”

“I do.”

“Should’ve left when you had the chance then.”

“Wish I had,” he snarls, upset and saying things he really, really doesn’t mean.

“You didn’t. Okay? I’m glad you didn’t. Be-because I love you.”

It’s nice seeing the tough man so vulnerable, expressing his true thoughts and feelings without much prompting on Sykkuno’s part.

“I love you too.”

“There, it’s settled. I will go find the captain and ask where we’re going. Hopefully, it’s far enough away from Toast.”

He agrees wholeheartedly. He never wants to repeat that experience unless he is absolutely forced to, no matter how sexy the knife may or may not have been.

When Corpse reports back, Sykkuno has finished his meal and done a bit of exploration. The kitchenette yields little in the way of entertainment: it is but a small, rather tacky corner of the room with pots, pans, a few cabinets of food stuffs. Overall, it’s boring. He moves on to the bedroom area that is far more appealing decoration wise with a plant here and a shelf there. The walls are blue, and he approves of the choice. The living room is just a cushy armchair and a nightstand with a broken lamp. It is not as technologically advanced as he’d hoped upon waking up in a plane, but perhaps the lack of cosmetic accessories or fun things was a sacrifice to make way for better security systems and defenses that would protect them, should anyone or anything choose to attack.

Before he can explore the bathroom, Corpse returns with a grim look that, honestly, isn’t so different from how he normally appears. He twiddles his thumbs and stalls for a minute under the pretense of catching his breath, but he’s taking in air just fine, maybe a bit short on oxygen when Sykkuno hoists his leg up on the edge of the bed and more of his skin is revealed in those pajama shorts. 

“The pilot is, uh, nonexistent.”

“What? How are we flying?” Sykkuno begins to panic. No way is he staying one more minute on a plane without someone steering it.

“Don’t worry, most planes these days are self-steering anyway. It’s just, this one isn’t supposed to be, exactly.”

“Are we gonna be okay?”

“Yeah, most likely,” he tucked his hand in the crook of his neck, nervously rubbing behind his ear. “I’ve taken a few flying courses. It, uh, just means we might have to land a little earlier.”

“Why? A lack of a pilot shouldn’t be like detrimental, right? I mean, right?” Sykkuno’s fears tumble into each other. What if the plane crashes? What if they both die? What if Toast gets them back in his clutches and they die? Every scenario he can think of ends in death, and he feels very frightened by the prospect.

“Not usually, but we need fuel, too. We can land near here and hope nobody rats out our location. For now, we have plenty of food, and the auto-pilot is still working just fine.

“I’ll tell you about this helicopter I flew once back in Las Vegas. Now, of course, that city,” he holds up quotation marks, “doesn’t exist,” he rolls his eyes, “according to everyone but a handful of Bingus’s prophets and representatives, and the majority of us don’t even believe in old stuff like that. It’s all about a new world and...where was I? The helicopter, yeah, that was a nice adventure. A man named Ray, you would’ve liked him, taught me to fly…”

Sykkuno almost drifts off with his head on Corpse’s shoulder as he recounts tales of remarkable journeys and mysterious people. His life has been so crazy and amazing that Sykkuno can only dream about things like traveling the world and meeting leaders of foreign nations. He doesn’t want a crazy life; he just wants a life, somewhere far away from here. Maybe Corpse will be there too, and he won’t feel like he’s always about to die or have everything taken away from him. He will be able to discern what is true and what is a lie, what is actually blue and what somebody has falsely told him is blue. That thought carries him through the day. A perfect world. Perfection does not exist. He does not think about that right now. There will always be time to dwell on the hardships that come with life and the unfairness of those hardships, but now, he has something to look forward too, no matter how out of reach and impossible that idea is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit weird, right? Please leave a comment, concern, your thoughts, or some constructive criticism. I just want to know if this is worth continuing. Thank you :)

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you reading. I’m sorry if this seemed odd, rushed, forgetful, or like I was leaving things out in some way. Really, it kind of is meant to be read like that. Swiftly jumping from one event to the other without much transition. I think I can explain more of why in the next chapter, but if you have any questions, feel free to ask!


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